Boy! Just Like Any Other Story

By: Loraine Valladolid

I am Boy, my father's child, destined to scream instead of cry. In this household where my existence is

defined by my father's boasts to those who matter little to him, I am his son outside, his obedient dog

within. My name, he insists, is a legacy I can never escape.

Yet, I've never been comfortable with that name; it's a burden that suffocates my true identity. I've never

truly felt like a boy, ensnared by expectations that were never mine to bear.

Boy! Come here! Show respect to your Uncle Edgar!

I hurried to the living room, kneeling to kiss Uncle Edgar's hand as he looked at me with amusement.

Aba! You're becoming quite the young man, hah? Got a girlfriend yet?

The thought of having a girlfriend made me wince. It was a desire that had never stirred within me. Love

felt like a foreign concept, one that didn't belong to me. Girls didn't interest me, and boys... well, that was

a sin.

My father and uncle chuckled, teasing me relentlessly. As the attention shifted away from me, I retreated

back to my room, a space I shared with my mother, and occasionally with my father, if he ever bothered

to come home. Personal space was a luxury I couldn't afford. Thankfully, my mother was out, granting

me a rare moment of solitude to indulge in my secret passion: fashion magazines.

I carefully hid the magazines behind a stack of encyclopedias and VHS tapes. They served as a shield,

protected from prying eyes by the neglectful layer of dust. No one ever touched those encyclopedias,

making them the perfect hiding spot for my forbidden indulgence. My father's voice echoed in my mind,

condemning such flamboyant displays and feminine interests as unsuitable for men. According to him,

masculinity was defined by strength and stoicism, not by the grace or expression that I found solace in.

In these rare moments of solitude, surrounded by the musty scent of old wood and books, and the faint

chatter from outside, I allowed myself to surrender to this forbidden contentment. Here, hidden from the

judging eyes of the world, I embraced something I shouldn't be. No, something my father told me I should

never be. It was a shameful yet liberating act, a rebellion against the constraints of my family and the

expectations that bound me. This, for now, was my sanctuary, where I explored the parts of myself long

suppressed. Finding solace in the whispered pages of a fashion magazine and my own imagination.

I am Boy. I should be a man, said my father. But in these stolen moments of vulnerability, I allowed

myself to simply be.